A Capable Confidant
by LaShameless
Summary: Sasuke had always confided in Itachi about anything and everything. Therefore it wouldn't be strange that Itachi would know that he'd developed an unhealthy interest in a part-time worker at a local restaurant. Except for the fact that Sasuke hadn't told him yet.


**Prologue: The Art of Observation**

* * *

It was Monday night. Monday night was the night when the whole Uchiha family _has_ to have dinner together, no excuses. This has been the routine my family has followed ever since my father became the head of the company that has been passed down from generation to generation. Mother had strictly informed him that 'just because he has to manage a huge ass company, doesn't mean he can escape the duty of being an attentive husband and doting father'. At first glance, my father would appear to be neither of those things but we know better. He always knows when mother is tired and would give her a massage after sending my little brother and I off to bed like we were still five years old. It is precisely because we weren't five years old that we were able to act on our curiosity and thus witness my father's actions. From behind the safety of a slightly ajar door of course.

"Itachi, have you seen my dark blue dress shirt?"

The slightly irritated voice of my little brother interrupted my musings and I looked up at him from my spread eagle position on the floor, in the middle of my bedroom.

"Dark blue dress shirt? The one that you got when you were with me at the mall last time?"

"Yes,"

"The one that you insisted looked ridiculous on you?"

"…Yes,"

"The one that you meekly bought after I shouted very loudly that you seriously needed a new wardrobe because you always wore the same two t-shirts and all the other people in the shop stopped and stared at you incredulously?"

"Yes!"

"Nope, haven't seen it little bro,"

The disgruntled expression on his face amused me to no end as he disappeared down the hallway all the while muttering something about 'stupid long-haired weasel-faces' and 'nosy shoppers'.

It started three months ago. Sasuke had suddenly stopped complaining about going to the same family restaurant that we went to every two weeks. At first, I couldn't figure out what had elicited this change of heart towards the place. After all, it's not like the menu had changed or the quality of the food had improved or the restaurant had been renovated. He'd started paying more attention to what clothes he wore to the place, and spent more time in the bathroom beforehand. I started to observe my brother closely whenever we went to the restaurant and noticed that he'd became a lot quieter and when spoken to, responded with one-worded replies. Not to mention the 'subtle' looks he occasionally sent the waiter's way. Clearly, his plan was to seduce the guy with caveman language and glares that were intended to be mysterious and mesmerising.

My cute little brother had a crush on the new waiter.

Of course, 'crush' would be a bit of an understatement considering the fact that he brought home takeout from the place every day for a whole week. And then subsequently brought home takeout every Tuesday, Thursday and Friday afterwards. I'd also run into him hanging around the restaurant area with his friends a few times. I wouldn't be surprised if I found some snapshots of the object of his affections in his bedroom. Sasuke's attempts to gain the waiter's attention became a source of amusement for me but now, a month after I found out, I thought that it was about time that I helped him out a bit.

* * *

I walked past Itachi's room again, freshly ironed dress shirt in hand. Trust my mother to find things when I can't. She always gives me this knowing look and tells me to take a walk and come back to her in a few minutes. It makes me think that she just uses the summoning charm from Harry Potter or something. I glanced inside the room, half-hoping that he was still lying on the floor so that I could make a snide comment about having an eccentric older brother. I was disappointed to find him upright, in the middle of taking his shirt off. I glared at the sculpted muscles that flashed mockingly at me and continued down the hallway to my room. The lazy ass doesn't even work out that much! How the heck does he get a body like that? All he ever does at home is eat cheesecake and Pringles! For all intents and purposes, the guy should be overweight!

I gathered the rest of my outfit in my arms and headed towards the bathroom. If my mother wasn't home, I wouldn't have bothered but she'd once caught me walking back from the shower to my room, naked, and had squealed so loudly that I'd frozen in my footsteps. She had then run back into her bedroom and right back out again with a camera in hand squealing "My little Sasuke is all grown up!" It was at this point that I'd broken out of my state of shock, sprinted into my bedroom and slammed the door. But not before she'd gotten a few snapshots that now reside in the Uchiha photo album. An album that will never be viewed by an outsider as long as I'm alive.

As the warmth of the shower water seeped into my body, my thoughts strayed to the bright-eyed blond that has been plaguing my thoughts for the past three months. I'd walked into a local restaurant with my family for the thousandth time in my life, expecting to be greeted by the usual old shop owner. Instead, my vision was attacked by a shocking mop of blond hair and the widest grin I'd ever seen. I could practically see the waves of friendliness emanating from him and immediately, my shield went up. The blond looked much, _much _too hyper for me interact with without more than a few of my brain cells getting fried.

"Welcome! My name is Naruto and I will be your server today! Table for four yes? Please follow me to your seats!"

My mother immediately warmed up to the new waiter and started chatting to him while the rest of us silently followed their lead. We were like storm clouds in comparison to the double rainbow in front of us. The chatty blond had basically spilled out his whole life to my mother during the thirty or so seconds it took us to be seated. After he left with a cheery wave and an 'I'll be back in a second!', mother took it upon herself to relay everything he'd told her, to us.

"He's your age Sasuke! He attends the same university too! You two should be friends! After all, I already feel like I have another son! He doesn't have parents you see, and oh! We should adopt him Fugaku! Fugaku! That's such a wonderful idea!"

As my mother had continued to try and persuade father to adopt the random waiter, my gaze was unwillingly drawn to said waiter. He really did look my age but I'd never seen him on campus before. Perhaps he'd only recently transferred in? I observed the blond's movements; a nervous scratching of the back of his head, the shifting in his feet while taking orders, the boisterous laughter that swept over the entire restaurant, causing others to smile in the blond's direction. I could see the contours of his well-built body in his form-fitting work shirt. My eyes rose to settle on his collarbone, and I unconsciously licked my suddenly dry lips.

As my gaze rose, my breath caught in my throat as our eyes met. The startlingly blue eyes made contact with my own obsidians. The link was created and broken within a few seconds, the blond being the one who looked away first. As he strode towards our table, it appeared that he'd taken the momentary eye contact to mean 'We're ready to order' but throughout the entire course of our meal, he never once made eye contact with me again. If not for the fact that I could feel the blond's eyes on my retreating back as we left the restaurant, I would never have developed an almost _obsession_ with the guy. I'd turned back slightly to see him standing behind the wall-length window of the restaurant. His gaze had been fixated on me, his blond hair had stood out among the many others in the restaurant, and the small but noticeable tinge of red was visible on his marked cheeks.

I'd smirked.

The attraction was there.

The chase was on.

* * *

TBC


End file.
